Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
But he doesn’t give me much of a cuddle and pulls back after the briefest moment. “Was it though? You know how much I want you.”
I finally get to look back at him and notice he’s tying up a condom and throwing it behind a box. I don’t know if I should feel complimented or slighted. Because on one hand, it makes sense that he used one in a public space, for convenience, maybe even out of care for me, so I don’t have to worry about his cum leaking out of me. But on the other hand, it feels like he wanted a barrier between us.
Still, there will be many other times when I can let him breed me without worry, so I step closer and slide my hand over his side. “Well… I didn’t expect us to do it where we could be caught. It was kind of hot.”
He scowls at me. “‘Kind of’?”
My face falls. “Very,” I say in a voice so embarrassingly small I can barely hear it myself.
Nico nods as he takes off the red jacket and puts it back on the rack. It reminds me to pull up my own pants, so I do that after a quick clean up with the damn gag-sponge.
There’s a sense of unease inside my chest, and I attempt to extinguish it by resting my face on Nico’s bare arm. “Maybe we could… rest?”
Nico looks anywhere but at me. “Nah, you were right, we should go. There’s no time for stupid shit.” He points to the Santa costume and grabs his sweater, once more standing beyond my grasp.
I can’t help the sense of disappointment squeezing my chest, but we are in a public space, and he is right, we’ve already wasted too much time. I shouldn’t be getting upset just because he didn’t give me a single kiss. I don’t want things to get too serious anyway.
We’re having sex again, I said my piece, and there will be no ‘saving Christmas’ by Nico.
But if I got what I wanted, then why do I feel so bad?
Chapter 22
Blake
If I’m attracted to the darkness inside of Nico, to his dominant demeanor and violent tendencies, then why do I miss his goofy jokes and smiles? It makes no sense, yet because Nico has become so serious, it feels like he’s locked me away from a part of himself. And now that I can’t have it, I want to stick my hand into that cookie jar so badly I’m going crazy.
But we can’t waste time on dealing with the weird mood between us when there is so much on the line. The house is only a short drive away from the large gas station where we’ve stopped to change for the masquerade.
I shake my head, unwilling to dwell on my brother’s impending death, and put on a coat over my checkered suit. It’s a nice shade of bottle-green, and while it came off the rack, it fits as if it were made for me. Maybe this is what I should have worn to my first-ever adult outing, not the stupid elf costume?
I step out of the bathroom stall, ready to go, when my gaze settles on Nico’s tall, broad-shouldered form.
He’s adjusting his tie, so I see him in the mirror and, there’s no other way to put it, he’s breathtaking. Dressed in black pants and a burgundy jacket with sequin lapels, which make him look as if he’s already adorned in blood. This time, he’s no bloodthirsty wolf, foaming at the mouth with a hunger for gore, but an elegant monster, hidden in plain sight. His eyes are cold and determined, his hair slicked back.
He turns, putting on a simple black mask that covers the upper part of his face and extends into curled horns decorated with red glitter.
“Ready?” Nico asks as I try not to jump his bones before leaving.
He wouldn’t want me to, since I’m reasonably sure he hates me now. After all, I stopped him from 'saving Christmas' which definitely put me on the naughty list.
But a deal is a deal, and he will carry out my revenge before disappearing from my life forever.
I can’t begin to describe the emptiness that thought makes me feel at the center of my chest, but the truth is that I cannot date a killer. It just wouldn’t work, and as difficult as our parting is going to be, it is the lesser of two evils.
We don’t speak on the way to the car, nor as we drive to our destination—an old secret passage into the villa. It was made for the discreet transport of people and goods during the prohibition era so groups of prostitutes could visit the house for lavish parties, and once even provided a convenient exit when the previous owner of our Aspen home was fleeing the cops. Today, the start of the passage looks like a little concrete building with markings suggesting that it contains high-voltage electricity. It’s partially sunken into the hill behind it, and it’s easy to access with a code only Carl and I know.